Mirage

No one expected such beauty from her; no one wanted such beauty from her.
How difficult it must be, they would whisper, to be so tormented, to be so misunderstood.
A strong front she would lay diligently as she walked among them.
For so long... who would have known?
From her lips sprouted the buds of a flower meant to smell like love.
From her eyes petals fell delicate as passion.
From her hands, the honey of a caring tree.
Yet, with such a dull glow, her talents went unnoticed, ignored.
All the beauty she was able to bestow... with no one to appreciate it.
Except for him: slowly coaxing the mare to the pool.
Here not only could she see herself... she could drink herself in.
Radiance. Beauty. Pain. Love. Suffering.
Fabricated cloak of security no longer needed,
The ethereal being she had been all along appeared,
And she sang.
A mirage, they call her, like the image you hope for when there is no other hope left;
The unexpected light in the darkest of rooms,
And she is, as she always was.